


Introspection Is The Name Of This Session

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Kieran thinking about everything, Lord of Shadows spoilers, as it is at the end of the book, first fic, the relationship is ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: At the end of Lord of Shadows (spoiler alert) Diego takes Kieran to the Scholomance. What happens over the next few days? What does Kieran think about? Basically Kieran reflecting on the events of Lord of Shadows, specifically the final confrontation, as well as his relationship with Mark.





	Introspection Is The Name Of This Session

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. My first ever fic. Enjoy! It's a rambly mess but oh well.  
> Please comment and let me know what you think! Also if you find a mistake so I can fix it :) 
> 
> Title is from Clear by Twenty One Pilots, which has no relation to the fic, but is generally just a great song.

Kieran was bored.

Well, not _bored_ per se. He hadn't been quite able to put a finger on it during the last week. The Scholomance made him feel unsettled, never able to let his guard down in a school- more like a military training ground, really- for Shadowhunters who would deal with the fey. The building was foreign and distinctly unfriendly; the very stones in the walls seemed to radiate malice. Why Mark's brother had wanted to come here, wanted it badly enough to refuse his twin's offer of parabatai, was a mystery.

After the first days, he realized where that vague sense of wrongness originated- since he had joined the Hunt, never a day had gone by that Kieran couldn't ride on the wind. He had mixed feelings toward the Hunt, as, he suspected, every one of its riders did. He had been whipped, beaten, made to ride without food for days. But he had good memories as well, of nights spent lying next to Mark as he counted the stars. Best of all, there had been the sense of freedom, of invincibility, of existing on top of the world while racing through a clear sky.

The Scholomance was the opposite of that freedom. Every minute of every day, he was trapped beneath a mountain of stones that wished him harm. He was no longer a needed witness for the Clave- Kieran wasn't sure what had happened during those first minutes in the council room, but he was certain Zara Dearborn and her Cohort had caused it, and equally certain it had left the Clave in such disarray no council meetings would be occurring anytime soon. He heard the newly undead Blackthorn enter the room, heard shouts and the distant thuds of objects hitting the floor, and had just begun to hear the ringing of metal that signaled a swordfight when the Centurion, the one the Blackthorns mocked by calling him Perfect Diego, ran into the room (narrowly avoiding an impaling courtesy of Kieran's improvised curtain-rod-javelin). It was not that Kieran did not appreciate Diego's actions. It was just that he wished that, in his uncertain status as not-quite-important-witness, not-quite-foreign-dignitary, not-quite-part-of-the-group, Diego could have evacuated him to a different safe house. One whose existence did not depend on the policing and controlling of faerie. One where the walls wouldn't make him feel claustrophobic, where he could at least sit on the roof or in the grass and watch the sky.

Here, he sat inside by himself or occasionally outside with Diego. He tended more towards sitting inside, as it was taking him quite a while to warm up to someone who was engaged to the leader of the Cohort, if only for political reasons. Someone who hurt Cristina, if unintentionally. Near-constant sitting around (broken up by occasionally wandering around the halls aimlessly or setting up pranks for the unsuspecting Centurion) led to near-constant thinking, an action Kieran could do with less of. Being unable to _really do anything_ forced him to reflect on the puzzle that made up the last few days. Which was really something he could do without.

First in his mind, and it never failed to surprise him that this was his main concern, because _he did not care about Shadowhunters and he did not care about those who made the Cold Peace and he especially did not care about Shadowhunters who had lied to him and used him_ , was the aftermath of whatever it was that he and Diego had narrowly avoided. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, the Blackthorns had grown on him, and he found himself worrying not only for the general meeting (would Julian's master plan work as he intended or backfire horribly) but for the safety of the Blackthorn siblings. As many times as he told himself _these Shadowhunters are not concerned for me and I am not concerned for them_ , he _was_ , and he couldn't explain why.

Never far afterward, his thoughts would inevitably stray to Mark and Cristina. Both had been in the council hall; he had left both of them in danger. More than that, he had left without clearing up whatever it was that was going on between the three of them. He was no fool, he could see the way Mark and Cristina looked at each other when they thought he wasn't around. He hadn't missed their kiss in the ballroom either, though he pretended he had. Strangely, he was no longer jealous. He had been- oh, he had been, jealous enough to report on Mark in the hopes of recalling him to the Hunt, and as much as he told the both of them that had been because he believed Mark's life was in danger, most of it stemmed back to the fact that their relationship had been in danger. Now, however? Even when he couldn't remember anything, he had sensed something had changed. Something that had scared him, something that he couldn't understand. He had slowly started to regain his memories since the encounter with the Unseelie King, and he remembered his and Mark's conversation outside the Institute. He remembered the cold weight of the elf-bolt he had given Mark drop into his hand, and he remembered Mark turning and walking away from him. After that, what right did he have to be jealous? That memory, combined with his new friendship with Cristina, had removed any traces of it. Mark had moved on, chosen his Shadowhunter blood over the part of him that was fey, and so chose a Shadowhunter over what he'd had in faerie. He could understand why Mark had picked Cristina- she was beautiful, kind, and gentle, but could hit a bullseye with a throwing knife from across the room. The one thing he couldn't shake, no matter how he tried not to think about it, was how upset Mark had seemed after he had given him what he thought he wanted (the ability to be with Cristina without having to hide, to drop the front of his relationship with Kieran, to finally be done with faerie). "No," Mark had said when Kieran was leaving the room. So even though he knew he shouldn't, Kieran couldn't stop himself from hoping. Whenever he caught himself thinking about it, he quickly shut that train of thought down, but over the last few days he had caught himself in mid-thought more times than he would like to admit.

The longer he waited, the more he was sure- something had to happen soon. He would go crazy confined in this place; he needed to soar through the air, needed to fight something, anything, needed to _stop thinking_. He snapped himself out of another long mental tangent to eavesdrop on Perfect Diego, because if he couldn't be where the action was he would damn well hear about it. That, and if nothing else it would give him a short break from only hearing himself think.


End file.
